


The Wayward Witches

by CheeseNKrakens



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Azkaban, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gender or Sex Swap, Genderbending, Hogwarts, POV Alternating, POV Multiple, Teen Angst, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2018-10-20 18:54:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10668735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheeseNKrakens/pseuds/CheeseNKrakens
Summary: Samantha and Deanna Winchester have spent their whole lives saving people, hunting Death Eaters - the family business. But when Deanna gets dragged off to Azkaban for something that Sammy did, everyone has a hard time dealing.(Real talk: this fic is basically season 4 of Supernatural but everyone is gender-swapped and they're at Hogwarts.)





	1. Platform Nine and Three Quarters

SAMANTHA

Samantha Winchester clenched her fists around the handle of her luggage trolley, her knuckles going white. She glared at the brick wall in front of her. It was so stupid. It was just a wall, a bunch of red bricks and grey mortar; it should not have the power to bring her to tears.

The memory swam before her eyes, Deanna’s voice echoing in her head.

_“C’mon, Sammy!” Deanna cried, slapping her on the back, “don’t be such a pygmy puff. Just run at the damn thing.”_

_They were standing between platforms nine and ten at King’s Cross, facing the unassuming brick wall. Light filtered down through the glass roof – sunlight for once, a miracle in London – and it made Deanna’s honey-brown hair look almost golden. Her green eyes danced as she looked down at her little sister, who couldn’t have been more of a contrast. Her dark brown hair hung limply at her shoulders, and her face was lighter than the usual pale. It was positively ashen._

_Samantha’s lip trembled, her shoulders quaking in her sister’s hand-me-down robes. “What if it doesn’t let me in?” she asked, looking the wall up and down._

_“What, are you a squib?” scoffed Deana, “Of course it’ll let you in! Now c’mon, let’s go.”_

_Samantha shrunk back. “I’m not like you, Dee,” she said, “I’m not a good witch.”_

_Deanna raised her eyebrows at her little sister. “Wow,” she said. “If you believe that, then you’re as stupid as you are ugly.”_

_Before Samantha could reply, Deanna grabbed her by the collar, picked her up, and threw her headlong through the magic wall._

Samantha would give anything to have Deanna there, manhandling her through the barrier now. Instead, she was standing alone as hundreds of muggles bustled by, going about whatever business muggles bustle to. Sam reached a hand up to touch Dee’s necklace, which was lying heavy on her chest. It was a gold pendant, a horned, tribal head with a scowling face. It had been a Christmas present, a long time ago. Sam had intended to give it to their mother, Joan, but Joan was too busy to show up for Christmas that year. Sam gave the pendant to Deanna instead, and Dee had worn it every day since. Every day, that is, until the dementors dragged her off to Azkaban. 

She wasn’t alone for long.

“Oh hiya, Samuel!” A high pitched, mischievous voice cut through the crowd. Samantha turned as an incredibly short, twinkly-eyed girl reached up to sling an arm around her shoulders. 

Gabrielle. 

Samantha went rigid. Gabrielle was, bar none, her least favourite person in the whole entire world. She seemed to take pleasure in bugging Sam, taunting her, playing endless practical jokes. She was the only student who actually got along with Peeves, much everyone’s alarm. Samantha had no idea why Gabrielle singled out the Winchester sisters as her favourite subject. Her incessant bullying had nearly killed Deanna on hundreds of occasions. 

God. Deanna. Samantha felt hot tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. She turned her face away from Gabrielle’s mischievous grin; if she ever saw her cry, she would absolutely destroy Sam.

“Lollipop?” Asked Gabrielle, waving a purple candy in front of her face.

Samantha shook her head, still not looking at the imp hanging off her shoulder.

“Today’s a big day, eh Samuel? Flying solo,” she tossed her light brown ponytail over her shoulder, “you’re all alone now that big sis took a one way trip to Azkaban.”

Samantha’s face flashed hot and she shoved Gabrielle, hard, in the chest. Gabrielle stumbled back, arm flopping off of Sam’s wide shoulders. “Don’t you dare talk about my sister,” Sam spat, chest heaving, “I will end you.”

A few muggles looked at the outburst in alarm, but they kept on walking. Gabrielle raised her arms in mock surrender, still smiling. “Whoa, calm down there, hulk-face,” she said, “I got a sister in lockup too, remember. I wonder if Lucy and Dean-o are bunk buddies.”

“Deanna is nothing like Lucy!” Sam shouted. 

“Hey, I’m just trying to relate to you Sammy! Do a little bonding! You know, we should start a club. Or a band. I play a mean ukulele, you know,” she grinned. 

There were hot tears on Samantha’s face. “Stop it. Just stop it.”

“You know what your problem is, Samuel,” said Gabrielle, still sucking on the damn lollipop, “it’s all this anger you’ve got. You’re too sensitive, doll face. A little advice? Just let it go. She’s in there, you’re out here, and that’s just the way it’s going to be. Don’t get me wrong, I love this whole berserk warrior princess thing you’ve got going on over here, it’s very sexy. But you’re going to burn yourself out, sugar.”

Samantha clenched her fists, getting ready to punch her again. “Go to hell, Gabrielle.”

Gabrielle smiled and tossed her feathery hair over her shoulder again. “Oh, I’m about to. It’s called Hogwarts.” She turned around and pushed her cart towards the barrier. Her luggage was covered in glitter, band stickers, and (Sam suspected) was full of Weasley Wizard Wheezes products. A horned owl was perched on top of everything, staring at Samantha unblinkingly. 

Sam didn’t have an owl. She didn’t need one, anyways; who would she write to when her parents were dead and her sister was in Azkaban?

Samantha pushed her rickety cart through the magic barrier, desperately trying to think of a reason, any reason, why this year wouldn’t be the worst year of her life. 

That reason was standing on platform nine and three quarters, leaning casually against a pillar and looking absolutely gorgeous. 

Samantha paused a moment to appreciate the sight of him. He was sweeping a large, tanned hand through his pitch black curls, looking nonchalantly through the crowd with his big, dark brown eyes. He hadn’t changed into his robes yet; he was wearing a black leather jacket, black t-shirt, and ripped jeans. His frame was lanky with long, veined muscles stretching over his body; at 16, he hadn’t quite grown into his body yet. He would, though. Samantha could tell that much. 

His roving eyes found Samantha and locked on, pinning her with their dark intensity. His wide mouth curved into a smile. 

Sam’s breath caught in her throat a little bit. She tried to look casual as she walked up to him, heart pounding in her chest. 

“Hello, Ruben,” said Sam, batting her eyes, “how was your summer?”

Ruben smirked, hair bouncing, “Are we seriously going to pretend that you didn’t spend the whole summer with me?”

“Not like that,” said Sam in a low voice, cheeks going hot, “People are going to think-“

“Aw, she blushes,” said Ruben, taking Samantha’s hand, “people can think whatever the hell they want to think.”

He pulled Sam onto the train, picking a compartment at random. It was full of first years, perched excitedly in their seats. They turned their heads with a jolt when Ruben jerked open the door. 

“Out.” He barked. The first years didn’t need to be told twice. They skittered out and bolted down the hallway, making high pitched, involuntary sounds. Ruben made a little bow and gestured towards the open door like he was some sort of butler.

“M’lady,” he said. Samantha smiled and stepped into the dusty compartment, dropping into a window seat. Ruben, still smirking, turned and locked the door behind him, fortifying the seal with a wave of his wand. He casted another spell too, waving his blackthorn wand in a circle above his head. “Muffliato.” No one could hear them now. They had complete privacy. 

Rather than taking the seat across from her, as Samantha expected him to do, Ruben flopped down on the same bench she was on, turning to lay on it. He rested his black, curly head on Sam’s lap. It felt warm and heavy. He closed his eyes, letting out a long, contented sigh. 

“You want it?” he asked after a moment.

Yes. Oh god yes, Samantha wanted it. As an answer, she reached over and dug her hand into his jacket pocket, feeling the little glass vials hidden within it. Ruben reached up his and to grab her wrist. 

“Just one right now, baby,” he said, “it could be a while before I see my supplier again.”

Sam bit her lip and nodded. She didn’t want just one: she wanted ten, she wanted fifty. But one vial would do. For now. 

Ruben released her wrist and she drew out one tiny, beautiful vial. The liquid inside it was red, thick, and the most delicious substance that Samantha had ever tasted. 

Dragon blood. 

As always, the sight of the blood shot Samantha through with guilt. She could hear Deanna in her head, screaming. _“Drugs, Sammy, really? I went to Azkaban so you could suck blood like a vampire? You’re a monster, Sam. A Freak.”_ She was right, too. Dee was always right. But the blood was so good, and she was in so much pain, and Sam just couldn’t resist.

She popped off the cork with one swift, practiced motion and downed the vial’s contents, sucking greedily at the reluctant dregs. Immediately, she felt her pupils dilate. She felt a surge of energy course through her veins, a rush of endorphins. She felt powerful, invincible, immortal. Red sparks leapt from her wand, responding to the surge of magic in its master. Sam started laughing. It was a free, unhindered laugh; the kind of laugh she could only manage when she was high. 

She thought about how empty she had been before Ruben found her, how lost. Even before he gave her the blood, he helped her search for ways to free her sister, helped her fight for her. When that failed, when everything failed, Ruben was there to get her through it. It was Ruben who talked the gun out of her mouth. It was Ruben who stood by her. It was Ruben who found a way to take the pain away. 

Samantha had no idea why a talented, 6th year Slytherin would take such an interest in a broken, 4th year Ravenclaw, but it didn’t really matter when she got high. The world was all light and colour, she could actually see the magic drifting through the air. It wasn’t inside them, like everyone thought it was. Magic was a web, knotting and pooling and curling in the wind. And damn, it felt good.

The train hissed, wailed, and started chugging out of the station. Samantha knotted her fingers in the hair of the beautiful Slytherin on her lap. 

What a year this was going to be.


	2. Escape From Azkaban

DEANNA

Deanna named the dementor Alice. 

Dementors didn’t have names, as far as she knew. They were all broody and silent. Well, silent wasn’t the right word. Wordless was probably better. Dementors did hiss, on occasion, or rattle, or emanate rapid click sounds that might have come from teeth, if they had had any. Deanna had heard of click languages, so she supposed that the dementors’ language could be something similar – a sort of hiss-rattle-click thing, but they never really seemed to communicate with one another. 

They did have personalities, though. A particularly foul dementor, Deanna noticed, liked to float just outside her bars for hours, hooded face pointed in her direction. It was a hisser, that one, and a very heavy breather. 

Hissing, faceless creatures who wear ratty cloaks and live for the express purpose of sucking the happiness out of you are a lot less scary when you call them Alice. 

Dee talked a lot to Alice, just to pass the time. She recommended that Alice get an inhaler or something, maybe use some breathe-right nose strips. She told it, every day, how it took her breath away. As Alice’s influence weighed on her, Deanna started needing something more substantial than respiratory jokes to keep her spirits up. Sammy, she needed Sammy. She started telling stories about her little sister, harmless ones, snippets from their life. She told Alice about the time they went to see the Loch Ness Monster, and the time Joan left them alone in Liverpool for a whole month. She told Alice about the way Sammy’s eyes lit up when she set off her first muggle firework. But those stories weren’t enough, not after months in Azkaban’s cold walls. So she told Alice about their mother, Joan, and her crushing obsession with finding the Death Eater who killed their father. She told Alice about how Joan and Sammy didn’t get along, how they could fight over nothing and there wasn’t anything Deanna could do to bring them together. She told Alice about all the times that Sammy had run away, over and over, and how it had torn her apart every time. She even told Alice about the day Joan died. 

Through all the stories, every single one, Alice stared at Deanna through the iron bars. It never said a thing. It only hissed, and slowly, surely, sucked the joy out of Dee’s soul. 

In the end, Deanna stopped talking. She couldn’t talk any more. All she could do was lay there, on the cold, stone floor, and whisper Samantha’s name. 

Sam was all alone. At least Dee had Alice.

The nights bled together and time lost its meaning. How long had she been there? Weeks? Months? Years? It didn’t matter, of course. She would be there for the rest of her life. Deanna wondered how long that would be. It didn’t seem worth it to keep on living. 

Then, one day, she saw a light. It was a small light, but bright, so bright that it was hard to look at. It shone white, and as Dee looked at it, it seemed to get bigger. She sat up, rigid with amazement. 

Alice didn’t like the light. 

It let out a gasping hiss and slid through the bars, flying at the light at full speed. Something flew out of the light towards it, hitting Alice right in the face. Screaming, Alice fled. 

Was that… a giant bee?

The bee was a patronus, that was clear now. It flew around Deanna’s head, encircling her with its wild, white light. 

Deanna mustered up the energy to speak. “What the-”

Suddenly, her shoulder was on fire. 

It felt like a hand made of lava had latched itself onto Deanna’s upper arm. She cried out, thrashing away from the pain, sending herself sprawling onto the floor. The heat increased and Deanna screamed louder, her voice rough and alien in her throat. She spasmed uncontrollably, her eyesight blurring. Finally, thankfully, the world went black. 

\--

Deanna woke up face down in the dirt. She groaned; her insides felt like they’d been to a barn dance and her shoulder was hot and raw. After taking a moment for the world to stop spinning, Dee pushed herself up.  
She was at the bottom of a glen. Hills rose up all around her: big, rounded, green hills. They were spotted with heather and wildflowers. She could smell the spice of late summer, feel the warm breeze on her face.   
Deanna was in the Scottish highlands. 

Dee choked back a sob. She was out. She was out. The sunlight on her face felt amazing. 

There was still a pit in her stomach, though. She was tired, and sad, and a part of her wanted to lay down in the heather and never, never get up. She could just lie there until she died. 

That would be Alice, loitering in the corners of Dee’s mind. She remembered something Professor Turner taught them, way back in third year. Chocolate. Chocolate was a natural remedy for dementor sickness.  
Deanna pushed herself up. She had to find a town, a house, anything. She brushed herself off, and when she did, she saw something on the ground. 

Her wand. It was long, straight, and crisscrossed with Celtic designs. Cypress and phoenix feather. Deanna rubbed her fingers appreciatively over its smooth, familiar surface. It felt so right to have it in her hands again. Last time she’d seen it, some ministry official had yanked it from her.

Deanna was hit by another wave of depression, the overwhelming need to cease existing. 

Chocolate, she needed some goddamn chocolate. 

Dee stumbled forward, walking towards a Break in the heather that might have been an old path. One foot in front of the other, that was the only way she was going to get through this. She got to a single lane road. There wasn’t a car in sight. She kept on walking.

Finally, Deanna saw a building. 

It was a low, square thing covered in moss with a peeling sign that said “Peggy’s Petrol Station”. There were two petrol pumps outside, but they were so old and dirty they looked like they hadn’t been used in years. Deanna stumbled up to the greasy door. The sign said “Closed”. 

Aw hell no. Luckily, Deanna had her wand back. “Alohamora,” she said hoarsely, smiling when the lock clunked open. She swung the door open and stepped over the threshold. The room was full of crooked shelves laden with snacks. 

The chocolate shelf was the most beautiful thing Dee had ever seen. 

She lunged at it, ripping open a Cadbury and shoving it into her mouth. The chocolate’s rich deliciousness made her eyes roll back in her scull and her toes curl; Deanna could already feel the candy working against the despairing pull of the dementors’ influence. Chocolate magic. It was Dee’s favourite kind of magic. She polished off one bar and ripped into another, scarcely aware of the orgasmic moaning sounds she was making. 

Now that she had cocoa in her stomach, Dee could think a little more clearly. How had she gotten out? Samantha. It had to be Sam. An involuntary shudder rocked Deanna. What had her little sister done? She had a bit of darkness in her, Dee knew that. Hell, she went to prison for it. But what kind of mojo was Sammy working that could rip her out of the most highly secure prison on the planet? The memory of the day they took her to Azkaban rose before her.

_They were sitting in the library, tucked away in a far corner. Dusty stacks of books rose above them on every side, enfolding them in the familiar smells of old parchment and candle smoke. It was just her and Samantha. Sammy’s eyes flickered in the candle light as she turned the pages of some old chronicle; she ran her long fingers through her thick brown hair, lost in the story. She was there for a bit of light reading, of course. It was Deanna who needed to be there, slogging through some mind-numbing essay on tarot reading, so that Professor Archange wouldn’t fail her in Divination. Again. If Deanna fell asleep, Sam was under strict instructions to kick her in the shins and say something motivational like “Get off your lazy ass, princess.” Dee could feel herself drifting again, eyes staring blankly at the page._

_Samantha took a sharp breath in. She kicked Deanna in the shin._

_“I wasn’t asleep, asshole!” She growled, snapping back into focus. She glared at her sister, who wasn’t looking at her. Her eyes were wide, her jaw was clenched, and she was staring at something between the stacks._

_Not something. Someone._

_“You ruined my life,” said the figure, wand raised, “you Winchesters, you ruined my life.”_

_Deanna looked the boy up and down, trying to keep her face calm, in control. Slowly, she curled her fingers around her wand._

_“Walter Bumble, isn’t it?” she said casually, as if she had bumped into an acquaintance at The Three Broomsticks._

_“Yes,” he said, stepping closer. His face was twisted into a snarl. “Do you remember me? Do you remember when you and your bitch mother sent my dad to Azkaban?”_

_Deanna gripped her wand tighter. She spoke in a low, steady voice. “Your father was a death eater, Walter.”_

_Walter choked back a sob. “You’re a liar!” he shouted._

_The book on the table exploded._

_Deanna whipped out her wand and dove in front of Sam, firing a curse as she went. The curse missed, toppling a shelf behind Walter. He let out a wordless cry. They were both slinging curses now, shelves were falling, other people in the library started screaming. A stun spell hit Deanna’s leg, causing her to cry out and double over. Suddenly, Samantha stood up._

_When she did, Walter went rigid. Everything was deadly quiet._

_Sam’s voice was low and sharp. “Don’t you dare hurt my sister,” she said, “put away your wand. Now.”_

_Walter, eyes wide, face unmoving, put his wand back into his robes._

_“Kneel.” Said Sam._

_Walter knelt._

_Deanna looked at her sister in amazement. Then, the amazement turned to horror. Samantha wasn’t using her wand. It was laying on the table, abandoned._

_Sam was controlling Walter with her mind._

_Walter crumpled, screaming in pain. He started to writhe on the floor, sobbing._

_“Stop, Sammy, stop!” Deanna shouted._

_Walter went limp._

_“Was that…” Deanna panted, “Sam, was that the cruciatus curse?”_

_Sam turned towards her sister, eyes widening. “I don’t know,” she whispered._

_“Sam that’s… that’s an Unforgivable Curse!”_

_That’s when the professors showed up, and some ministry officials, and some Aurors that Dee didn’t recognise. There was a trace on Unforgivable Curses. Whenever one was used, alarms went off in important places._

_They couldn’t take Samantha to Azkaban. They just couldn’t._

_“I did it!” Deanna found herself saying, “I cursed him! He attacked me, and I cursed him!”_

_They believed her. They were horrified, but they believed her._

Now, sitting on the greasy floor of the petrol station with a Snickers in each hand, Deanna still shivered at the memory of the… the otherness in Samantha’s eyes. The Sammy that cursed Walter was a stranger to Dee.   
She had to get back to Samantha, of course. She had to let her know that she was okay, and figure out what the hell happened back there; but Deanna didn’t have a phone, or an owl, or a fireplace to stick her head through. Obviously, she couldn’t just walk into Hogwarts. What was she going to say? “Why hello professors, don’t mind me, I just broke out of Azkaban to pay my sister a visit. Don’t worry, I just need to ask her if she’s been channeling any dark magic lately. It won’t take long.”

No. As much as she would love to see the look on Professor Raphaella Archange’s face if she did show up, Deanna was pretty sure that she was officially a fugitive. 

There was only one place Dee could go. 

Barbie Singer’s.


	3. Deanna Winchester is Saved

CAS

The potion was finally ready. Cas held her breath as she watched the cauldron’s contents billow and swirl, glowing white smoke pouring over the edge and pooling on the floor. The potion looked like the inside of a neon light; it would probably be about as fun to drink. The recipe was ancient, powerful, and notoriously unpredictable, which was why Cas hadn’t told Raphaella what she was doing. Her half-sister meant well, Cas was sure, but every time Cas found a way to get Deanna Winchester out of Azkaban Raphaella would tell her it was too dangerous: wait, watch, let the adults in the Order of the Phoenix handle it. But they _weren’t_ handling it, and Cas wasn’t just some child. She was 17, the same age Harry Potter had been when he defeated Lord Voldemort himself: Cas could handle a few cowardly Neo-Death Eaters, at the very least. The longer it took for them to break the Winchester out, the more likely it was that Deanna would give the Death Eaters what they needed. That couldn’t happen. 

She ladled some potion into a goblet. The cup was warm in her hands, and it almost felt like it was vibrating. She raised the cup in the air.

“This is for you, mother.”

She downed the potion. 

Her first thought was brief, powerful, and incredibly odd. 

_It tastes like lemon meringue. Huh._

Then her throat seized, her lungs lit on fire, and it felt as though her entire body flipped inside out. For all she knew, it had flipped inside out. She screamed and crumpled into a fetal position on the floor, overwhelmed by the pain and the insistent high pitched tone that was suddenly everywhere. It felt like it was going through her, shattering her ears, her bones, her skull. The sound increased and Cas thought that it couldn’t get any louder, nothing could possibly be louder than this, but it increased nevertheless. She writhed, helpless.

_Whoosh._ The pain was gone. 

Cas… was… flying? She was flying. Only, she was also lying on the floor, unconscious. She looked down at herself, crumpled on the floor. She was in tact, she was glad to see; her bones hadn’t actually broken, her pale skin had not, in fact, flipped inside out. It was eerie, looking at herself as others might see her. Her loose brown bun was messier than she’d thought it was, her mouth was wide, her slender figure was enveloped in her favourite coat. Then she looked at herself – the self she was in, the flying self. 

Only, she didn’t have a body. 

She was… she was more like… a wave of celestial intent.

Spooky.

She thought about Deanna Winchester, about Azkaban, and suddenly she was there. 

Deanna was laying on the cold stone floor in exactly the same position that Cas’s body was – on her side, limbs askew. She had once had an athletic body – honed by years of Quidditch and whatever the Winchesters did when their mother pulled them out of school for a few days – but some of her muscle had wasted away, her skin hanging loosely off of her frame. Her golden hair was limp and stringy, and her eyes… they were open, glazed over green, and were staring unblinkingly at the light emanating from Cas’s non-chest. 

A dementor hissed and rushed at her. Cas tried to reach for her wand but she didn’t even have an arm, let alone a wand. What was she supposed to do?

The dementor was almost on her, so more out of desperation than anything else, Cas glared at it and thought the words _Expecto Patronum._

Her honey bee patronus appeared and chased off the offending creature. 

Cas turned back to Deanna, who had managed to sit up. “What the…” she rasped through chapped lips. 

Cas reached out, or rather, went forward with the intent of reaching out, and felt her non-self touch the girl’s shoulder. A red handprint appeared on Deanna’s flesh. 

Yeah, sure. She had a _handprint_ but didn’t have a _hand._

Deanna started screaming. 

Oh. Um. Okay. 

Cas thought about being back with her body and bringing Deanna with her. She heard a _whoosh_ and she was floating over her prone body again. 

Only Deanna wasn’t with her. The connection must have failed. 

She _whooshed_ back to Azkaban. 

Deanna wasn’t there either. 

Had Cas… _dropped Deanna Winchester?_

She whooshed back to her bedroom, to double check that Deanna was, in fact, missing.

Cas groaned, and it came out as a high pitched, singular tone, like one you might get from rubbing your thumb around the rim of a crystal glass. Raphaella was going to kill her. 

Someone must have heard the noise because there was a rapid _thump thump thump_ as someone bolted up the stairs. _Shit shit shit._

Michaela burst through her bedroom door, wand raised. Her blue eyes whipped around the room, taking in Cas’s limp body, the bubbling cauldron, and the floating light in the top corner of the room. She pointed her wand at the light, _at the real Cas,_ and bared her perfect teeth. 

Michaela was Cas’s half-sister, but they weren’t really anything alike. Cas was pale and dark haired, Michaela was tanned and blonde. Cas was socially awkward at best, Michaela was charismatic and popular. Cas was a seventh year Hufflepuff, Michaela was a high ranking ministry official. They only really shared two things: big blue eyes and a talent for duelling. 

_Don’t shoot,_ Cas tried to say, _it’s me._

Only, instead of words, the room was filled with that high pitched tone. 

Michaela cringed and brought a hand up to her ear, but didn’t lower her wand. She glanced down and gently kicked Cas’s body in the side. 

“Cas? Cas! Are you awake?”

_Yes,_ she tried to say. Her vanity mirror hummed and broke. 

Michaela frowned. She glanced from the body, to the potion, to the floating light. 

“… Cas?”

_Hi Michaela._ The lightbulb in her lamp blew out.

Michaela’s eyes went wide. “Cassaundra Maria Angelus,” she growled, “what in Merlin’s name have you done to yourself?!”

Rather than risk breaking any more of her possessions with her non-voice, Cas remained silent.

“Get back in your body. Now.”

Cas wasn’t sure exactly how to do that, so she just thought about doing it, like she had thought about going to Azkaban. There was a white light and suddenly she was lying on the floor, gasping for air. _Wow_ her body was sore. 

Michaela stood above her, wand still clenched in her fist. “Explain,” she said.

Could she tell her sister, the Minister for Magical Defense, The Order of the Phoenix’s most terrifying weapon, that she had broken into the world’s most secure prison and promptly dropped one of the most valuable assets in the fight against the Neo Death-Eaters somewhere between here and there, possibly in the ocean?

No, she could not. But she couldn’t exactly lie to her either. 

Michaela was terrifying. 

“I…” she fumbled for the words, “I tried to save Deanna Winchester, but I failed.” That was true, in a way.

“You what?”

“Sorry.”

“We told you to let us handle it!”

“I know, but-“

“No ‘buts’, Cas, I’m sick of this disobedience!”

“Azkaban is a horrible place, and she’s innocent, Michaela!”

“We get her out through the proper channels. The official channels.”

“They’re too slow.”

“Enough. Aren’t you supposed to be on the Hogwarts express?”

“This was more important.”

“Really? When Mom gets home, she’s going to be so disappointed in you.”

That comment stung. Mom couldn’t handle any more disappointments. After Lucy, she sort of… broke. She didn’t cry. She didn’t fly into a rage. She just… hung her head and left. It had been years now, since she walked away. Michaela and Raphaella, her oldest children, had stepped up to lead the family, to keep Mother’s unwieldy brood of children from killing each other, and they ran the Order in her place, but things were falling apart. They ran the house like a military base. A military base made from a deck of cards.

The family couldn’t handle any more disappointments. 

Cas hung her head. She had really, really screwed up. 

Michaela flicked her wand and Cas’s belongings started packing themselves into her cedar trunk. Michaela didn’t let Cas out from under her piercing, disappointed glare.

“Fireplace. Now. We’ll floo you to Hogsmeade and you can walk from there.”

Cas got up off of the floor and walked numbly down the stairs into the parlour. She reached into the floo powder bag and withdrew a fistful of the fine, soft dust. Standing in the hearth, she raised her eyes to meet Michaela’s.

“I’m sorry, Michaela,” she whispered.

Michaela sighed. “Be good at Hogwarts,” she said, “and listen to Raphaella, you hear me? I don’t want to hear about any more prison breaks.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Off with you.”

Cas closed her eyes and dropped the powder, opening them to survey the familiar interior of the Three Broomsticks. She sighed and leaned against the ashy wall of the fireplace. It smelled homey, comfortable; the charred fireplace was much more welcoming than the house she’d just left.

Well, that could have gone better.

Deanna was out, at the very least. But Cas needed to know if she had accidentally dropped her in the ocean, or from a great height, or – Merlin’s beard – let go of her halfway through a wall or something. She still felt like she was vibrating a bit, so maybe the potion was still working. She needed to get to a place where she could drop her body for a while. 

Cas picked up her trunk and headed for the toilets. Once the door was locked and she cast the _muffliato_ charm to ward against alarming people with the high pitched ringing, Cas laid down on the floor and wished herself out of her body.

_Whoosh._ She was staring at herself, belatedly realizing that a bathroom floor probably wasn’t the most sanitary place to lay her head. 

Whatever. She needed to get to Deanna. Rather than wish herself to a place, Cas wished herself to a person. She thought about Deanna’s golden hair, her athletic body, her big, green eyes. 

Suddenly she was in a petrol station, watching over Deanna Winchester. 

She was sitting on the floor, a chocolate bar in each hand, more chocolate smeared on her face. Her eyes were rolling back in her head, her body shivering. Then, she let out the loudest, most orgasmic moan that Cas had ever heard. 

Cas couldn’t help herself. She started laughing. 

The impossibly loud, tonal ring filled the air and Deanna cried out, covering her ears. After a few moments, she lunged for the shelf of chocolate bars. 

Cas couldn’t believe it. Something instinctual in this girl told her to _protect the chocolate bars._

She knew she shouldn’t, but she laughed even harder. The windows in the store shattered, spraying Deanna Winchester with broken glass. 

Well, Cas had learned what she needed to know. Deanna was alive, Deanna was safe, and Deanna had her fill of chocolate bars, apparently.

She wished herself back into her own body, laughter bubbling out of her lips.


	4. Weeknight at Barbie's

BARBIE

Barbie scrunched her nose and scowled at the hoards of students in the great hall. They were all so _loud_ and Barbie didn’t think she could handle so much stupid in one room. 

She much preferred the view from her library, where the stupid was filtered through stacks of books and the students lived in the knowledge that if they set one toe out of line, Barbie could whoop their sorry asses.

Barbie was well past her prime, but she was still tougher and smarter than most people in the wizarding world. Her face was all wrinkles and grooves, her left leg wasn’t quite as useful as her right one, her brittle, shoulder-length hair was more silver than not, but she had a bright glint in her eye and strong, square shoulders. She wore a ratty, wide-brimmed hat at all times, its edges frayed and stained. Some of the bolder Hogwarts staff had suggested that she should replace the drooping hat and wear cleaner, more refined robes. She told them to go directly to hell. 

“Damn you, Rufina,” Barbie grumbled into her goblet, “Damn you straight to hell. Every year, every friggin’ year I swear I’m never coming back to this cesspool. Then you show up and somehow manage to drag me back in.”

Rufina was as creased and scarred as Barbie was, her coffee skin marked with a lifetime of hard-won duels. She had wide, darting eyes that were undimmed by the fire-whiskey she’d been downing since noon. Unlike Barbie, Rufina’s hair was thick, black, naturally frizzy, and stood out in a chaotic orb around her long head. It bounced as she bobbed her head at her life-long friend.

“Don’t blame me, Barbie,” she lolled back in the hard wooden chair, flask halfway to her mouth, “you the one who don’t trust nobody else to run your damn library.”

Barbie gritted her teeth. “’Cause I caught that idjit Emily Balthazar in there with a friggin leopard that used to be a priceless medieval manuscript, that’s why.”

Rufina waved a hand in Barbie’s direction, scrunching her nose, “she the _transfiguration_ professor Barbie, that’s what she _supposed_ to do. That and teach ‘dem kids how to turn water into wine. It’d save me a million, if’n I drank wine. You know me though Barbie, it’s all about the fire-whisky.”

Barbie snorted. “You teach Defense Against the Dark Arts and I don’t see you doin’ no duelling in the Restricted Section.”

“You know, Barbie,” said Rufina, leaning towards her, “that’s because I’m actually good at my damn job. If I was duellin’, the fool’d be out cold before your fat ass could reach us.”

“Who’s ass you callin’ fat, pumpkinhead?” All this talk of duelling in the library was bringing back memories of another, terrible fight that Barbie still couldn’t quite wrap her head around. Poor Deanna. 

Rufina, drunk as she was, saw the dangerous look in Barbie’s eye. She picked herself up and leaned forward, putting her elbows on the table. “So that girl o’ yours, she make it back to school okay?”

Barbie nodded towards the Ravenclaw table, where Samantha was sitting at the end. She had her head bent over her food, her back slouched. Barbie tried to keep her voice steady as she replied. “As soon as finals are over, she runs out of Hogwarts like a bat out of hell. I don’t see her for months. _Months._ I damn near threw my hip out lookin’ for her, but she don’t wanna be found. I don’t hear a word from her all summer. She coulda been dead in a ditch, for all I knew. Then she walks off the train with some pretty-boy Slytherin and hardly says two words to me.”

Rufina nodded at the girl, hair bouncing. “Her momma’s dead, ain’t she? That freelance Auror? Joan Winchester?”

Barbie pinched the bridge of her nose, fighting off the rush of complicated and contradictory feelings about Joan. “Yep. Doornail. Goin’ on a couple a years now.”

Rufina’s eyes darted from Samantha to Barbie and back again. “Well where in the hell has Sam been livin’, Barbie?”

Barbie took her hand off her face and glared at the old auror. “Hell if I know, Rufina, she was supposed to stay with me but she friggin left, didn’t she? And she used some damn cloaking spell her paranoid ma’ taught her, so I couldn’t even track her.”

“Damn. Well she alright now, that’s what counts, you know, in the end.”

“She ain’t alright, Rufina. Hell _I ain’t alright_ neither. Those girls are like daughters to me.”

“Just give her some time, Barbie.”

Barbie snorted and looked away from Rufina’s gaze. She surveyed the crowded dining hall instead. “Is it just me or is this whole conversation a mite too personal for a dinner table propped up in front of hundreds of idjit kids?”

Rufina snorted. “I don’t give a rat’s ass.”

Raphaella Archange leaned towards them from her seat further down the high table, glaring. “Professor Turner, Madam Singer,” she said, voice sharp, “As much as I appreciate the homey colour, please refrain from using foul language in front of the students.”

Barbie scrunched up her nose. “Can I still use the word ‘idjit’? Or is that not fancy enough?” she asked. 

Raphaella’s eyes squinted. Barbie could see the effort that the seasoned professor took to stop herself from rolling her eyes. “I suppose,” she said through gritted teeth, “that the word ‘idjit’ is not too offensive.”

Barbie nodded and stood up. “Good night, idjits!” she bellowed as loud as she could. A few of the older students yelled replies. Echoes of the word “idjit” bounced around the room. Barbie turned to Rufina and Raphaella, who were looking at her with extremely different expressions on their faces. 

“Well I’m going to hit the hay now, unless anybody has a problem with that.” She glared at the primly dressed, straight backed divination professor.

There was a vein popping out of Raphaella’s temple. “Good night, Madam Singer,” she said. 

“G’night, Barbie,” chuckled Rufina, “you need you some beauty sleep before tomorrow. Damn.”

“Suck dirt and die, Rufina.”

Barbie thumped her way off the dais and down between the long tables. A few students leaned over to say hello, but Barbie just nodded to them as she walked by. Apparently, she was what you call ‘popular’ with the students. She had no idea why; all Barbie ever did was yell at them and insult their intelligence. Gabrielle Archange was one of the students who waved. Barbie stopped. 

“Now listen here, missy,” said Barbie, waving a finger at the little Slytherin, “don’t you even _think_ about pulling anything in my library this year.”

Gabrielle batted her eyes. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Madam Singer,” she said. 

Barbie scowled. “Just because your sister is some fancy-pants professor _does not mean_ that I won’t turn your thick scull into my own personal bongos, you hear me?”

A shaky, black haired first year sitting across the aisle at the Ravenclaw table was staring at Barbie with wide eyes.

“I… I thought that teachers weren’t allowed to use transfiguration as a punishment!” She quavered.

Barbie turned the full effect of her glare on the girl. “And you are?” she asked.

The girl was small, even for a first year. She had thick, straight hair that almost swallowed her face completely, leaving only a few slices through which to see her wide brown eyes and fear-paled skin. She shrunk under Barbie’s gaze. “I’m… I’m Kerin Tran, I’m in advanced placement,” she said.

“Well, Kerin Tran in advanced placement,” she said, “do you feel like testin’ your little theory?”

Kerin shook her head, hair swooshing from side to side. “No ma’am!” she squeaked. 

Barbie nodded. “Well then, you best stay on my good side, idjit.” She stalked off. 

Barbie heard Gabrielle speaking in a false whisper behind her back. “Don’t worry,” she said, “Ol’ Barbie’s all bark and no bite.”

Without turning back around, Barbie flicked her wand and transformed Gabrielle’s rice pilaf into a bed of spiders. All the students in the area started screaming, but she could hear Gabrielle’s distinctive, jovial laugh. 

When she got to the end of the Ravenclaw table, Samantha was gone. Rufina’s slurred voice rang in Barbie’s head. “Just give her some time, Barbie.”

Barbie hated giving time. Time was the worst. She missed her girls, damn it. 

Barbie pushed her way out of the great doors, sighing as the cool night air washed over her hot face. She was one of the few staff members who didn’t live in the castle, and she could never decide whether that was a good thing or a bad one. On the one hand, it was inconvenient to have to walk all the way across the grounds and over to the front gates before she could dissaparate to her house. On the other hand, it was damned nice to have a place that was _hers,_ where nobody would be stupid enough to disturb her. 

Well it was hers, and it was Sam and Dee’s too. Was. Barbie choked down the lump in her throat. She picked up the pace, ignoring the complaints from her stiff leg. When she got out of Hogwarts’ protective bubble, she turned on the spot and thought of home: book-laden shelves, worn carpet, and glowing coals in the fireplace. She was there in an instant, head still spinning. She made a beeline for the refrigerator; if Barbie was going to survive this year as the Hogwarts librarian, she was going to need a lot of beer.

Three bottles later, Barbie was sitting at her rickety table, leafing through an old tome on species of Japanese dragons. The plastic phone on the wall started ringing, cutting through the silence with a shrill, insistent bell. Barbie stared at it, face white. Most witches and wizards didn’t use muggle technology – like phones – which is exactly why she had one. Barbie had lived a colourful life, made enemies along the way. The phone was one of the many muggle devices she used to outwit the wizard-centric Death Eaters. Nobody ever used that phone, except for her and the Winchesters. Joan was dead, salted and burnt. Mark too, for what it was worth. Deanna was in Azkaban. Samantha was the only one who could possibly use a phone, and she wasn’t exactly chatty. 

Slowly, Barbie picked up the phone. 

“Yeah?” she said gruffly.

The sound on the other side crackled, a bad connection. “Barbie?” They said.

“Yeah.”

“It’s me,” said the voice. 

Well that’s specific. “Who’s me?”

“Deanna.”

Barbie felt her face go red, her hand clench around the muggle phone. She slammed it down on the receiver.

The phone rang again. Barbie stared at it for a moment, fists clenched, before picking it up. 

“Who is this?” she spat.

The imposter voice was rushed, the connection crackling. “Barbie listen to me-“

“This ain’t funny.” Barbie cut her off, fuming. “Call again and I’ll kill you.”

Barbie slammed the phone down again, so hard that the holder fell off its mount. It dangled from a single cord, broken plastic clattering against the wall.


End file.
